


Love, Sweet Love

by DixieDale



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: valentines day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 12:11:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17683196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Germany, WW II, a Valentine's Day Vignette.





	Love, Sweet Love

I.  
"I do not understand, Colonel Hogan. 'Valentine's Day'? What is it?" 

Hilda was not being unappreciative of the stockings or the chocolates, but she had never heard of the custom. And usually when the American Colonel presented such gifts, he wanted something in return. Well, she was quite willing to present what he wanted as well; he was a remarkably attractive and charming man, and there WAS a war on. It was certainly more pleasant flirting (to put it in polite terms) with him than with General Burkhaulter or the others she was forced to be pleasant to. 

With him, with Hogan, it was exciting and pleasurable, never totally sordid, even in the backseat of the Kommandant's car. Still, she wasn't stupid, at least not when she put her mind to it, and she knew there was a catch somewhere. With him, there always was. Just where, that was the question. Still he seemed almost sincere, so she put her misgivings aside. 

Until after a few mutual signs of affection, he asked the question she should have been, truly was expecting. 

"Did the new code book arrive yet, the one the Kommandant was so concerned about? The one Burkhaulter told him to guard with his life?" and she, once again, smiled and told him what he wanted to know. Well, she always did, didn't she? 

 

II.  
"Just for you, Tiger. You know how much you mean to me. I sent all the way to London for these. They weren't all happy about it, but I insisted. For my special girl, there's nothing but the best," his voice low and mellow, dangling the stockings and small box of chocolate in front of the Underground agent. 

Her heart melted. Well, it tried to, anyway, though some part of her was kicking her in her patootie and shouting in her ear making quite rude comments, and doing a few other very distracting things. She sighed with annoyance, unfortunately out loud, enough he'd heard her, possibly realized it for what it was. 

She caught that quick annoyed frown that flickered over his handsome face before it faded into that better known congeniality, even outright charm. 

{"No, I mustn't annoy him. If he's going to charm me, I must let him. And I must charm him in return."}. She repeated that sigh, but with a slightly different emphasis, making sure to put the right expression in her eyes this time.

"You don't like them?" he crooned, but with a little steel behind those smiling eyes. 

{"Those ever so calculating eyes,"} she thought to herself. {"Funny how I missed that little detail at our first meetings."}

"I love them, you know I do, mon cher; I just do not wish you to make London annoyed with you, all for my sake," she replied, letting her Tiger persona, the one who managed her Underground job so well, take over. It was so annoying when her professional side took over, insisted on showing common sense and sensible skepticism when her hormones kept saying "screw that! Just jump him, girl!" Obviously her hormones had a limit on just what idiocy they'd be allowed to drag her into anymore.

She'd let her hormones call the shots a few times with Hogan, when the occasion called for it, and those truly had been memorable. The man WAS extremely talented, knew just what to do, what to say, to make a woman feel very special. But then again, he had a great deal of practice according to his classified dossier, even more greatly outlined in that unofficial dossier she'd managed to locate through some friendly sources of Rene's. 

But she was letting herself get distracted, away from the job at hand, which wasn't good. She should have been pleased at his attention, should have been more eager, as she had been when they'd first met. That was what he was expecting, what she needed to deliver.

Still, somehow, anymore, when she met with Hogan and he tantalized her bouncing hormonal system, her mind kept bringing up that totally disgusting picture of the nightclub act her friend Rudi had described to her, sheer horror in her voice - the one with the woman and the large snake and that music, everything that had taken place on that stage. That made no sense, but it seemed that picture was there to stay, and somehow was forever linked to Colonel Robert Hogan, Papa Bear.

So now, their meetings were slightly more orchestrated, somehow there was never quite enough time for things to get overly involved before her team leader or one of the others from her group interrupted. She was sure Hogan found it most annoying. As for herself, though she feigned disappointment, she felt only relief when, once again, Rene popped his head in the door. A brief greeting, and a disgruntled Colonel Hogan left. 

{"Probably to make the next stop on his rounds."}

III.  
"I do not understand. For 'Valentine's Day'?" Rene asked, puzzled, as he savored one of the chocolates. Actually, they weren't half bad chocolates, not for wartime anyway.

"Well, Rene, it IS a romantic holiday, as he said, and after all, who else would he give a gift to, if not to me?" She simpered sweetly up at the Underground leader, batting her eyelashes madly. 

He snorted, "oh, there is the secretary at the camp, there is the waitress at the Hofbrau in Hammelburg, there is . . . ." watching her face as he continued the list, relieved at the shared laughter he saw there, had hoped to see there.

"But Rene, THOSE are all just 'useful contacts'; ME, I am his TRUE LOVE! Surely you know that!" 

He drew her into his arms, "of course, mon chou, of course. But you will be careful with him, non? Continue that sweet little French girl act, never let him near the truth. He is talented, he is useful - he is also very dangerous." 

Rene's mind went back to that occasion when he realized Hogan intended to abandon the Allied agent Caeide to the mercy of the Germans after she had served her purpose. There had been more than expedience in that action, some hint of another purpose, retaliation for her having angered him in some way, perhaps. In the tunnels, he could tell it had something to do with the Englishman, Newkirk, but he'd never known the ins and outs of that, and decided it would be imprudent to look closer.

"Of course, Rene. To him, I am Marie - Tiger - the one as besotted with him as are all of those other women - no one else." 

She moved closer, let his warmth envelop her. Rene was only one of many names her lover, her fellow fighter for the cause of La Belle France, bore. Just as Marie, Tiger, those were only two of the many she wore as well. Someday, after the war, if they survived that long, Rene would become plain Monsieur XXXXX. That might even be the name Rene was born with; there was always a remote possibility of that. And then, she would become Madame XXXXX, and all this vileness would be behind them, Hogan along with all the rest.

"Valentine's Day gifts. I have none for you, my love," he said ruefully, and she smiled into his eyes, a real smile this time. 

"The men are not due back for another two hours. I am sure you can manage one gift, non? Come, we will share the chocolates and discuss the possibilities of this gift."

 

IV.  
"So 'e's putting together gifts for Valentine's Day for 'ilda and Tiger, and a few of the others? Makes sense. No telling w'at little 'gifts' 'e might be getting in return, now is there?" Newkirk snickered. 

Andrew frowned, slightly disappointed in that jaded attitude from Newkirk. "I think Valentine's Day is neat, Peter. Finding a little something special for someone you really care about, letting them know you think they're awful special too. It's NICE!"

Newkirk sent a quizzical glance at the visibly upset Andrew Carter. It was just so bleedin hard to remain jaded and cynical around Andrew, more effort than he was willing to put forth right now. Around Andrew, Newkirk seemed to find himself becoming someone he almost didn't recognize; sometimes that worried him, a lot. Still, it just kept happening.

"Well, maybe it IS nice, Andrew, when you put it that way. But I don't know 'ow it's so bloody nice w'en you're giving those special little somethings to more than one somebody, them not knowing about each other, and getting those special 'somethings' back in return from each of them. Just me, you know, but seems more than a little off. Course, being it's the Colonel, well . . ."

He waited for that to feel disloyal, somehow, but it didn't. But he did watch Andrew's face, watching as Andrew thought it all through, and then the dawning realization on the younger man's face. 

"You know, I never thought about it that way, Peter. Of course, I never had anyone I thought was special enough I wanted to get them something special, even think about getting something 'special' in return. Heck, my Mom would have scrubbed my mouth AND my ears out with soap even thinking about 'special' stuff like that. Hey, Peter, did I ever tell you about . . ." and there he went, on another one of his long spiraling monologues, interspersed with occasional questions to Newkirk that he never waited for the answers to. 

Newkirk was glad it was getting dark, that he didn't have to try and hide the grin of pure delight one of Andrew's excursions of fancy could bring to him. {"No one but Andrew!"}

Later, he'd laid back on his pitiful excuse for a pillow at lights out, and heard that slight crackle, different than what his lumpy mattress usually issued forth. Fishing around underneath the pillow, he came up with that small square of precious chocolate; not the Yank GI stuff that could probably kill you if you insisted on eating it on a regular basis, not that they had enough to go eating it on a regular basis anyway, but the good stuff, the stuff they traded with Schultz for special favors. He didn't even have to wonder where it came from, that almost inaudible little chuckle from the bunk below him told him the whole story, along with that little poke from Andrew's toe reaching him through his wood shavings mattress.

Well, good enough. He'd tucked a little token under Andrew's pillow as well - just a scrap of cloth he'd salvaged from a bigger project, but quilted and sewed into a tiny pouch, with Felix's name embroidered on the front. Bloody mouse would probably chew it to shreds in no time, but he thought Andrew might smile at it, might like the thought of a sleeping bag just for his mouse. Of course, Andrew might not FIND it right away, since it didn't crackle like the wrapping on that piece of chocolate. That wouldn't do, not at all. He needed to know about it now, tonight. Suddenly, that was very important.

Newkirk reached down to the bunk below, holding on to the rail so he wouldn't fall, and reached under Andrew's pillow. Pulling the pouch out with one finger, he laid it onto Andrew's folded hands, their fingers touching for just one fleeting moment. 

The young Sergeant might not be able to see the gift in the darkness, but somehow, Newkirk knew that didn't matter. The gift had been given, from each, to each, and the thought was there, given and received and understood, and that was enough. That was enough.


End file.
